Aftermath

S I X

The morning light cast a gentle glow through the towering windows of the Great Hall, catching on the wooden benches and silver plates. The room was filled with the low hum of students talking, the scrape of forks, and the occasional burst of laughter. 

Yet amid the noise, a tense silence seemed to hover between two students seated across from each other at separate tables. Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, but her thoughts kept pulling her back to the previous night and the heated exchange that had flared up between her and Draco Malfoy.

Their argument had left her feeling raw and unsettled. She caught herself glancing across the hall, her eyes searching the Slytherin table despite herself. There he was, his head lowered, blond hair hanging over his face as he ate with a brooding intensity. 

As if sensing her gaze, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a flicker of something unspoken—a simmering anger, perhaps, but something else lingered there too. A sense of betrayal? Frustration? She couldn't tell, but she tore her gaze away, her chest tight with unresolved tension.

Hermione turned back to her food, pushing the eggs around her plate without much interest. She was irked, too aware of the heated words exchanged between them the night before. The argument had left her feeling bruised, but more than that, it left her determined to finish the memorial on her own terms. 

After all, she told herself, if Malfoy wasn't going to contribute, she would simply carry on without him. The task of organizing the event was enough to keep her busy anyway, with or without his half-hearted involvement.

For the next week, Hermione buried herself in preparations, working late into the night in the library, scrolling through pages of parchment, gathering supplies, and speaking with students who wanted to share memories at the memorial. 

She kept her head down, ignoring Draco and the few times he walked past her with that usual cool indifference, though she could feel his eyes on her, watching her with an expression that she couldn't quite decipher.

Finally, one evening, Hermione received a letter summoning her to Professor McGonagall's office the following morning. When she arrived, she found Draco already there, waiting just outside the headmistress's door, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

He looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else, scowling at a portrait on the wall, his posture rigid.

He glanced at her briefly, a flash of apprehension crossing his face. "I suppose you're going to tell her I haven't lifted a finger," he muttered, his tone as caustic as ever.

The door opened, and Professor McGonagall appeared, her piercing gaze settling on the pair of them.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," she greeted, gesturing them into her office. The room was bathed in warm, golden light, filled with the familiar smell of parchment and polish. Hermione's gaze briefly drifted to Dumbledore's portrait, his serene expression offering a reminder of the task at hand.

McGonagall seated herself behind her desk, adjusting her glasses as she looked at them both, her face unreadable. "I'd like to hear how the memorial preparations are going," she began, her tone firm but not unkind. "Are you two working together as I asked?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. Hermione could feel the tension building, but she took a deep breath, keeping her expression calm as she looked at the headmistress.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied smoothly. "It's been... a challenge, but we're managing to work together. We've had our disagreements, but we've started to find common ground. The project has been good for that." She paused, glancing at Draco. "In a way, it's helped us see past our differences."

Draco's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. He'd expected her to expose his lack of involvement, to take the opportunity to let him face the consequences. Instead, she had covered for him, softening the truth with unexpected grace. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to read the reasoning behind her choice.

McGonagall's gaze softened. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Granger," she said approvingly. She looked at Draco, who offered a quick, grudging nod, his face carefully blank. "I expect both of you to continue working together until the memorial is ready. This event means a great deal to the school community, and I trust you'll do it justice."

After a few more words of encouragement, McGonagall dismissed them, and they made their way out of the office in silence. 

The tension between them lingered in the corridor, as thick as fog. Hermione walked briskly, hoping to put distance between them, but Draco caught up to her, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

She glanced at him, her face carefully neutral. "Is there something you need, Malfoy?"

Draco paused, a glimmer of confusion flickering in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell her I haven't done anything?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

Hermione hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "What would that accomplish?" she replied softly. "Not everything has to be about winning, Malfoy."

He looked at her with an expression she hadn't seen before—a mixture of surprise and something almost vulnerable.

Hermione shrugged, keeping her voice steady. "Believe it or not, I'm not trying to make your life harder."

They walked in silence for a few moments, neither sure what to say next. Draco looked as though he was about to speak, his mouth opening and closing, but he stopped himself, perhaps wary of shattering whatever fragile understanding had settled between them.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. "Maybe... maybe I could help," he offered, the words coming out almost reluctantly, as though the idea of offering assistance was foreign to him. "If you need it."

Hermione turned to look at him. "That would be... appreciated," she replied, her tone softer than usual. And in that moment, she caught a glimpse of Draco Malfoy that she had never expected—a side she might even be able to respect.

For now, their truce was tentative, fragile as glass, but for the first time, it felt possible.